


I'm taking a bath

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bathing/Washing, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, WetLock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this photo  manip over here at http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/109744618552/copgirl1964-watsonsdick-i-had-to-give-it-a-go</p><p>The boys share a bath, bubbles and body-parts.<br/>Sherlock just looks so smug!! Here's the story of how they got here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm taking a bath

“But look at them John, they’re huge!” Sherlock wiggles his toes where they sat exposed at the end of their too short bath.

“Yes, I can see that Sherlock, you have truly enormous feet.”

John looked past the halo of Sherlock’s hair as it threatened to obscure his field of vision. They lay together, immersed in a cloud of fluffy bubbles, reclining in the too small bath tucked away in Sherlock’s en-suite. Any reservations either man may have about the limitations of space were far outweighed by the benefits of being tucked snuggly together in the steaming water. John tucked up at the end and Sherlock slotted between his slightly spread thighs, head resting easily on John’s chest, lean body stretched out as best he could.

Looking back, it was hard to identify exactly what had finally precipitated ‘Water Conservation Night’. The final decision occurred somewhere after the argument over whether it was appropriate for Sherlock to use the loo while John was taking one of his, according to Sherlock, _overly long_ baths and an unexpected exchange over whether a shoulder massage would be more effective in the higher humidity of the steamy bathroom.

Whatever the cause, the effect was a series of excruciatingly awkward conversations that peeled the layers off an increasingly obvious physical attraction between them.

It began with a ‘half-joking’ comment from John that _“They might as well just administer future massages in the bath”_ eliciting a response from Sherlock that could be summarised with _“Only if we can use that Sandlewood-scented bubble bath you hide under the sink”_. There followed a handful of nervous laughs and looks that skittered back and forth but didn’t have the courage to catch and linger. John then cleared his throat and offered tea, and Sherlock nodded gruffly, mumbled something that may have been interpreted as a comment on stiffness in more than his shoulders, a shocked and blushing look from John and an overly zealous rendition of Stravinsky’s Symphony in three movements on Sherlock’s violin.

Nothing more was said until they found themselves under the harsh kitchen fluorescents, Sherlock knelt on the floor and stooped over John’s bare leg delicately removing glass shards with a pair of tweezers. As much as he might have hoped, the occasional twitch of Sherlock’s eyes toward the vivid pair of red pants that John was wearing had not gone unnoticed by his patient and the feedback loop of hungry glance by Sherlock and instinctive response by John was becoming all too clear to them both.

“Are you nearly done?” John managed between gritted teeth.

“Why? Do you have somewhere to go?” Sherlock’s tone was mildly baiting.

“Thought I might take a quick shower when you’re…..finished.” John picked up on taunt and fired it back.

“Cold or hot?”

John placed a tentative hand on Sherlock’s head, smoothing through the curls in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

“Cold…..very cold.”

Another faltering step was taken after Sherlock ended up with a mild concussion and covered from head to foot in mud after missing his footing and ending up face down on the banks of the Thames. A long, exhausting walk home (none of the cabs would take them), Sherlock was dizzy, nauseous and filthy. John had stripped him bare and manhandled him under the warm shower with little thought beyond getting his flatmate clean and dry and into bed.

“Why are you there?” Came the vaguely slurred question from the naked detective swaying alarmingly.

“I don’t understand.” John continued to rinse mud from Sherlock’s extremities with clinical efficiency.

“Why are you not….in here…with me?” Sherlock lunged toward John in an uncoordinated flail that threatened to topple him out of the tub as the shower overhead rinsed him clean.

“Because….” John answered tightly, suddenly aware that he had six foot of pale skinned, and obviously now increasingly horny, Sherlock under his hands, “Friends don’t take advantage of friends when they’re concussed, Sherlock.”

“Even if they want you to?” Sherlock’s voice dropped an octave and John looked up into pale but slightly unfocussed eyes.

“Especially then.” John whispered, and wished his jeans were a little looser.

@@@

“I’m taking a bath.” John closed his laptop with a snap and, unusually, waited for Sherlock to acknowledge the statement.

Silence fell over the flat and John’s heart hammered in his chest. It was ‘Guts and glory’ time for Captain Watson. He’d had enough of the tentative game they’d been playing. Solitary wanks in the privacy of his own room, visions of his manic flatmate naked and aroused playing on a loop behind his eyelids wasn’t doing it for him. He wanted Sherlock’s hands on him, and he wanted it now.

When no response eventuated from his flatmate, ostensibly reading the paper in the chair opposite, he escalated to phase two, “I’ve been reading there’s a water shortage…..any ideas how we might conserve water in the flat?”

There was a slightly startled ruffle of the paper, but otherwise…nothing. There was nothing else for it.

“I’ll probably have a wank…..” _Deep breath, John…._ “Fancy helping?”

The top half of the paper fell, exposing Sherlock’s face from the nose up, eyes dilated and far wider than usual. “What?”

“You heard.”

“You’re inviting me to…”

“Join me in the bath….Yes. Although how much actual _bathing_ takes place is a bit up for grabs.” John leaned forward in his chair, ensuring he had as much of Sherlock’s attention as possible, “Look, we’ve done this flirting thing long enough. As my mum would say it’s time to ‘ _piss, or get off the pot’._ ”

“Charming.”

“Coming?” John rose from his seat, shamelessly adjusting himself at Sherlock’s eye level and grinning as the Detective’s eyes were drawn down from his face.

The single word in response slipped from Sherlock’s lips like silk, “Yes.”

@@@

“But look at them John, they’re huge!” Sherlock wiggles his toes where they sat exposed at the end of their too short bath.

“Yes, I can see that Sherlock, you have truly enormous feet.”

The toes wiggled again, “You know what they say about big feet, John.”

“That they belong to clumsy detectives with little or no coordination….yeah, I’ve heard that.” John nuzzled his lips into Sherlock’s hair as it bunched beneath his chin and chuckled.

“Cruel, John Watson….you’re a cruel, cruel man.”

John chuckled again and ground his erection into the small of Sherlock’s back, “A cruel man whose undersized feet prove that rumours don’t always reflect reality.”

Sherlock snorted and wriggled, delighting at the feel of the firm column of flesh pressed against him.

Silence descended in the small room, both men lost briefly in their own thoughts, unsure how to proceed. Getting their clothes off and into the tub had felt surprisingly natural. Even the moment when their warm bodies finally slipped together in the scented water had been relatively unconfronting. Years of dealing with cuts, scrapes and being jammed into tight spaces together had all but obliterated any perceptions of personal space between them. They were, and remained, John and Sherlock, two halves of an efficient whole.

But now they seemed stuck. Jammed at a point where neither seemed to know how to move forward. Both clearly aroused in isolation, the question of how to take the next step seemed beyond them until Sherlock broke the stalemate.

“I dream about you, you know.” He murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Not this….I’ve never dreamt this, but….you….your mouth on me, fingers in my hair, under me…over me…” He paused before adding, hushed and rough, “..in me.”

There was a throb against his back, reinforced by John’s slightly strangled words, “Fuck, Sherlock.”

There was another short silence before Sherlock whispered, with a little more vulnerability, “This is where you’re supposed to tell me you’ve thought about this too.”

“Sorry, yeah..sorry. I was…..”John cleared his throat, “Yeah, you too..I…Shit, I’m crap at this,” John barked a short, awkward laugh before continuing softly, “How about I just show you?”

John smoothed his hands down Sherlock’s chest, invisible under the silky bubbles. He smiled at the way Sherlock seemed torn between arching into the touch, or down toward where John was pressed against him, hard and ready.

“Mmmmmm, “The baritone rumble echoed off the tiles, spurring John on. Laying his hand flat at right angles to Sherlock’s chest, he aligned his fingers with the subtle divots between Sherlock’s ribs, shifting downward one rung at a time until he reached the smooth plain of his abdomen.

Sherlock’s hands dipped into the water to settle on John’s hips where they lay below Sherlock’s. He rubbed encouraging circles with his thumbs on the skin he could reach while curling his remaining fingers into firm muscles.

Working blindly, John’s fingers trailed down and across until he nudged Sherlock’s erection with the backs of his fingers, eliciting a gasp from them both. Continuing the same path, he lifted his fingers and caged Sherlock’s cock against the taut muscle of his abdomen.

This time the gasp of indrawn breath was only from Sherlock as John closed his fingers in a confident, gentle grip.

“Good?” John whispered in Sherlock’s ear, getting nothing but a mute nod in reply.

Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his teeth set into his lower lip hard enough to bleach the colour from it. John ran a tongue around Sherlock’s ear, so close his own lips, “You don’t need to stay quiet,” he urged, “Mrs Hudson’s out.”

The plump lips parted with a whispered, “John…” as he thrust gently.

“There you go…show me how you like it.” John looked down the length of the bath, hidden underneath the bubbles, John was left to imagine what Sherlock would look like clasped within his hand. All that he could see was the shifting of the bubbles, borne by the rocking of the water as it responded to the tall man’s movements.

Each thrust took Sherlock away and then back against where John was pressed against him and he knew with growing confidence that the friction of the rhythmic rubbing, coupled with the filthy noises beginning to tumble from Sherlock’s mouth would be enough to get him off but not before he’d wrung every drop of pleasure from the man under his hands.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, blindly seeking John’s lips and they awkwardly sucked and nibbled at each other's mouths as Sherlock lost himself in the feeling of John’s hands on him.

Eventually, Sherlock’s moans began to take a needier, desperate whine as his rhythm faltered as John took over responsibility for maintaining the pace, his own pleasure rising with Sherlock’s impending orgasm.

“Come on, Sherlock. Let go.”

“I……” There was a tremulous vulnerability to Sherlock’s stuttered reply, “I…can’t.”

“I’ve got you..” John hissed against his lips, struggling against his own need, rutting up against the cleft of Sherlock’s arse, “You’re…brilliant.”

Sherlock groaned in surrender, arched spine going rigid as he tensed and his release spilled milky amongst the bubbles. John panted in unison with Sherlock’s stuttering breath and the sudden touch as Sherlock’s arse cheek lowered and brushed the crown of his cock dragged a broken cry from John as he thrust spasmodically twice more and ground hard against him as pleasure washed though him, and he spent himself between their bodies.

John buried his forehead in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, dragging air into his lungs as they trembled together in the water. John’s arms circled laxly around Sherlock’s waist and he smiled as they were covered lazily with Sherlock’s own. They lay there in silence for what seemed an endless time, with John sure that Sherlock must be able to feel his thudding heart against his back.

A deep chuckle finally broke the silence and John managed a weary, ‘Hmmm?”

“I’m NOT washing my hair in this water.” Sherlock eyed the bath dubiously.

“I did warn you I wasn’t sure how much bathing we’d be doing.” John chuckled back.

“Shower?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

“Absolutely!” John agreed with a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head.


End file.
